by Steven J. Serafiani

this bed is fucking small,
that tree branch scratching the window,
I really don’t like the artwork you hung,
I also dislike your taste in music,
can’t wait for sunlight.
your god damn cat is tightening my throat,
skin freckled and cold.

Fabulous title! Most intriguing poem, indeed, so vulnerable and intimate in the first stanza, then the change in the second- sort of the lifting of the fog afterwards. Very enjoyable read indeed. Love the tone. I especially loved the line “that tree branch scratching the window” Aye, the mists have cleared indeed by that point. Many cheers,